The crowd separated them, but through it Carmencita wriggled her way quickly and disappeared.  Waiting, Van Landing saw her rush up to Miss Barbour, then slip in a chair at a table whose occupants were leaving, and motion Frances to do the same.  As the tired little waitress, after taking off the soiled cloth and putting on a fresh one, went away for necessary equipment Van Landing opened the door and walked in and to the table and held out his hand.

“You would not let me thank you this morning.  May I thank you now for—­”

[Illustration:  “YOU WOULD NOT LET ME THANK YOU THIS MORNING.  MAY I THANK YOU NOW FOR—­“]

“Finding him?” Carmencita leaned halfway over the table, and her big blue eyes looked anxiously at first one and then the other.  “He was looking for you, Miss Frances; he’d been looking all day and all night because he’d just heard you were somewhere down here, and he’s come to have lunch with us, and—­Oh, it’s Christmas, Miss Frances, and please tell him—­say something, do something!  He’s been waiting three years, and he can’t wait another minute.  Gracious! that smells good!”

The savory dish that passed caused a turn in Carmencita’s head, and Frances Barbour, looking into the eyes that were looking into hers, held out her hand.  At sight of Van Landing her face had colored richly, then the color had left it, leaving it white, and in her eyes was that he had never seen before.

“There is nothing for which to thank me.”  Her voice with its freshness and sweetness stirred as of old, but it was low.  She smiled slightly.  “I am very glad you are all right this morning.  I did not know you knew our part of the town.”  Her hand was laid on Carmencita’s.

“I didn’t until I met your little friend.  I had never been in it before.  I know it now very well.”

“And he was so fighting mad because he couldn’t see you when I sent the note that he went out, not knowing where he was or how to get back, and when his senses came on again and he tried to find out he couldn’t find, and he walked ’most all night and was lost like people in a desert who go round and round.  And the next day he walked all day long and ’most froze, and he’d passed Mother McNeil’s house a dozen times and didn’t know it; and he was chasing Noodles and just leaning against that railing when the cop came and you came.  Oh, Miss Frances, it’s Christmas!  Won’t you please make up and—­When are we going to eat?”

Miss Barbour’s hand closed over Carmencita’s twisting ones, and into her face again sprang color; then she laughed.  “We are very hungry, Mr. Van Landing.  Would you mind sitting down so we can have lunch?”

An hour later Carmencita leaned back in her chair, hands in her lap and eyes closed.  Presently one hand went out.  “Don’t ask me anything for a minute, will you?  I’ve got to think about something.  When you’re ready to go let me know.”

Through the meal Carmencita’s flow of words and flow of spirits had saved the silences that fell, in spite of effort, between Van Landing and Miss Barbour, and under the quiet poise so characteristic of her he had seen her breath come unsteadily.  Could he make her care for him again?  With eyes no longer guarded he looked at her, leaned forward.